


A Study In Keyholes

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1891950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Come_At_Once, for the prompt "Peek not through a keyhole, lest ye be vexed".</p><p>Sherlock peeks, and is vexed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study In Keyholes

Keyholes were severely over-rated as a means of eavesdropping, Sherlock thought as he squinted at the tiny sliver of John's bedroom that was all that he could see.

It was not the first time that he had come to that conclusion. As a child, he had done a comprehensive study that had fully proved his hypothesis that the commonly held portrayal of keyholes as a useful spying tool could not be more incorrect. He still liked to check his findings every few years and, as John had shut himself up in his bedroom while Sherlock was bored out of his mind, now seemed like an excellent time to do so.

Crouching outside John's door staring at a slice of room that only contained the very end of the bed was not lessening Sherlock's boredom, however. He leaned in closer, squashing his nose against the door, but the view remained unenlightening. Perhaps he should just go back-

A shape crossed in front of the keyhole. Sherlock tensed. John had walked past and, in the split-second that he had been framed by the keyhole, it looked as if he'd been taking off his jumper.

Excitement coursed through Sherlock's veins. Was John removing other bits of his clothes? Was Sherlock only a few planks of wood away from a semi-naked John?

The tiny part of mattress that Sherlock could see shifted, as if a weight had been put down further up the bed. John must have sat down on it. Why would he sit down on the bed? Unless-

Sherlock felt the back of his neck heat up. There was only one activity that he could think of which involved taking one's clothes off in the middle of the day and sitting on a bed. He shifted even closer to the door, as if there would be some way to melt through the door and find himself in front of John, naked and doing- What exactly would he be doing? How did he go about such things in the privacy of his room?

Sherlock had a very clear mental image of what he'd be doing to John if he were in the position to take an active role in the proceedings. He wouldn't rush anything. If he were actually allowed to be in that position, he would take the time to properly enjoy it. He'd start with John's chest. He'd run his hand down the centre of it, laying claim, before focussing on several key areas with his mouth. John's collarbone. His nipples. His scar, if John allowed it. And then down further – John's stomach was probably soft and rounded, and would tickle as Sherlock ran his tongue down it, resulting in a giggle. Sherlock loved John's giggles.

The fantasy was so real that for a moment Sherlock thought the breathy grunt was part of it, before he realised that it had come from inside the room. Oh god, John really was masturbating. John was masturbating while Sherlock was right there, listening and completely unable to see anything through the bloody keyhole.

There was a fleshy sound and another groan from John. Sherlock's cock began to harden and he wondered if he could get away with his own moment of self-pleasure.

No, better not. He still had the plausible excuse of his keyhole study at the moment. If John came out and found him with his hand wrapped around his cock, that would be blown. He'd just have to take in as much data as he could through the door and record it for a session later on.

He pressed his ear to the wood of the door, abandoning the keyhole. Why did it have to be so solid? Perhaps he should suggest to Mrs. Hudson that she replace all the internal doors with curtains. Or even just take them out completely. He'd be able to watch exactly what John was doing right now if there were no door in the way.

John let out a panting noise. Sherlock immediately pictured him, spread out on his bed with his cock in one hand, the other flicking over a nipple, and his back bowed with pleasure. Or, maybe – Sherlock let his imagination run wild. Maybe his other hand wasn't on his chest, but lower, at an angle where John could push two of his fingers into his arse, fucking himself and imagining Sherlock's cock in there instead.

Sherlock was now hard enough to need to adjust his trousers. His hand lingered for a moment, pressing against his erection, and he had to force himself to move it away. No, that was for later. Right now, he was listening to John masturbate.

Oh god, he was listening to John masturbate. This was the best day since- since the triple homicide with the circus midget.

He pressed his ear even closer to the wood, resting his full weight on the door in his desperate need to hear more. What other noises would John make? Could he hear loud breathing? Harsh and deep and – coming closer.

The door flew open and Sherlock nearly toppled forwards to fall at John's feet, but saved himself at the last moment. He straightened and tried to look as if there was nothing weird about being caught kneeling outside your housemate's bedroom.

“Sherlock?!” asked John. “What the hell are you doing?”

Looking up at John from crotch height was not calming Sherlock's arousal at all. He stood up. “Confirming a theory.”

“What theory?” asked John. “Just how out of shape I am?”

Out of shape? Sherlock took a moment to observe John's appearance. He was dressed in an old t-shirt, a pair of shorts that Sherlock hadn't known existed and trainers. A new hypothesis formed.

“You were exercising?”

A stream of mental images of John doing press-ups, grunting with exertion, and stretching his legs, muscles standing out on his thighs, ran through Sherlock's mind. They were only slightly less arousing than the last mental images he had had of John.

“What else would I be doing?” asked John. “Seriously, what the hell were you up to?”

“A study in keyholes,” said Sherlock. “Popular culture is completely wrong about them.”

John blinked slowly. “Right, okay,” he said in the tone of voice that meant he'd decided the topic of conversation was not worth pursuing. “Well, I'm going running. You're welcome to come, if you're bored of keyholes.”

Sherlock sneered. “Running is not a worthwhile form of exercise.”

John rolled his eyes, then blinked and focused rather lower than he had been. Sherlock realised that he'd noticed Sherlock's erection and shifted slightly wondering if there was some way to hide it. Or explain it away. _I'm sexually attracted to doors_?

John's eyes leapt back up to Sherlock's face and his tongue darted out to lick his lower lip. “It's not my favourite either,” he said. “I'm open to other suggestions of how we could both raise a sweat.”

Sherlock froze. That couldn't be. Could it? Was John seriously suggesting- ? But that would mean...

Sherlock focussed very firmly on John's eyes, then let himself lean in a few inches. John's pupils dilated.

Oh. It was true. John was flirting with him. Panic and excitement rose up in Sherlock, intermingled. Oh god, what did he do now?

Flirt back, he had to flirt back. And soon, before John decided it wasn't worth it.

Sherlock took control of his vocal chords and dropped his voice a few notes, just enough to be a sexy growl without sounding ridiculous. “I have a number of ideas,” he said. “They don't really involve leaving the flat, though.” He dropped his eyes to John's feet. “Or require trainers.”

John licked his lips again. “That sounds- good.” He dropped his gaze to take in Sherlock's body. “I suppose your outfit would be inappropriate as well.”

“Oh yes,” said Sherlock, trying not to combust with excitement and joy. Flirting! He was flirting with John! And John was flirting back! Oh god, what if they actually had sex? That would top even the circus midget! “I'd have to remove all of them.”

A slow smirk spread over John's face. “I think we can arrange that,” he said. He reached out for Sherlock, taking hold of his waist and then stepping backwards to pull him into the bedroom. “In fact, let's get started now.”

Sherlock happily followed, kicking the door shut behind himself.


End file.
